


War Master

by patriciatepes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American wizarding society, Crossover, Gen, Maybe a little ptsd, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Pre-Epilogue, Season/Series 05, Severus Snape Lives, The Apocalypse, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/pseuds/patriciatepes
Summary: Snape survived the war with Voldemort, and then promptly decided that that was enough for him. A certain angel has other plans, however.





	War Master

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2019's Intoabar over on Dreamwidth. I was so happy to get Castiel as the person Snape meets in a bar. This fic practically wrote itself, once I took the time to actually sit down and do so. This is set somewhere within Supernatural Season 5, and, if I did my math right, sometime like twelve years after the events of the Battle of Hogwarts.

No one was more surprised than Severus Snape to see that he, himself, had survived Nagini's attack. Apparently, despite the grotesque size of her fangs and the most assured fact that she was venomous, she had chosen to miss all the major arteries and not use her venom. (Something that Snape was previously unaware she could even do.) Rumor had it that Nagini had once been a human woman, a maledictus. Maybe some of her humanity had remained after all. In the end, it was no matter. Snape was alone, left where he had fallen, and totally unsure of whether Potter had decided to spread the truth of his situation around or not. As the former Potions Master saw it, his life was going only two ways: either he would be condemned to Azkaban for his crimes or he would be pardoned and be treated as a war hero.

Fuck that. Fuck both of those options. He sent a prayer up to the only being he ever prayed to—dearest Lily—to forgive him… and he left. It was so simple. Everyone thought him dead. No one expected the dead to just get up and walk away—Inferi aside. So, he left, and he went to the one place he was guaranteed not to be recognized: America.

He wasn't heartless, despite the persona he had adopted over the years. He kept up with news from his homeland. Potter and his friends—despite taking losses, as is the truth of every war—had won the day, and all was well. Yay.

Oh, and Potter _had_ cleared his name. Severus Snape was now regarded as a war hero. He had called that one, hadn't he?

But Snape remained in America. He figured coming back, at this juncture, would look bad. Not that he even wanted to. It was kind of nice, to be washed of that place—his dismal home, full of broken memories and of her, of Lily. So, he integrated with American Wizarding Society—a little less than perfectly organized, given the strict rules against having _anything_ to do with muggles (no-majs, bloody stupid name) having only been lifted a few decades prior. So, when he moved into a small Wizarding community that had taken root outside of Lawrence, Kansas, none of his fellows paid him any mind. It helped that he was pretty sure he was the local bar's (it called itself a pub, but it was definitely a bar) best patron.

Time passed. What the hell else would it do, stop? He took up a job brewing potions for the town, to sell in their version of a general store. He, apparently, made the best in miles. It wasn't going to make him rich, but it was definitely more than enough to keep him alive. Besides, through several hurdles, he had successfully cleaned out his Gringotts vault before jumping the pond. He had now lived outside of Lawrence—in the community that cheekily named itself Lawrence Adjacent—for years. The town was simple. It was routine. These were the precise reasons that made it so easy to tell when everything changed.

It started with the weather. More storms were being reported all over the country, and it was disrupting, even when they weren't affecting Lawrence directly, his potions. He had to make calculated changes. Then came cattle mutilation. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered the two being linked. That was a long time ago, though, and he couldn't quite remember if it was something he had heard in his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes or if it was something in some research done for the Dark Lord. Strange things were happening all around… and then, it got really familiar.

Tobias Snape, his damnable father, had been a _devout_ Christian. Or, at least, that's how he saw himself. A real Bible beater, that one—which went along with his whole wife-beating, as well. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, and all that nonsense. As such, young Sev had learned quite a bit about The Good Book as a child. Revelations had been his favorite book. And, maybe it was the whole practically-living-as-a-hermit thing, but the events happening in the United States right now… they sounded a hell of a lot like a modern-day enactment of what Revelations said.

Snape went to the bar even more after he had had _that_ passing thought. It was on one such mission of drowning his thoughts that he found himself interrupted. He had been on his favorite barstool, sipping the beer that came the closest to drinkable, and generally minding his own damn business when a gruff, gravelly voice—like a voice that had never had water—said, "Excuse me."

Snape turned to his right and came face to face with a man dressed in muggle (damn… no-maj) clothing. Specifically, a casual black suit, white button up, bright blue tie that wasn't cinched up as it should have been, and a tan overcoat. His hair was standing up a little bit, and the clarity and intensity that his blue eyes stared at Snape made him want to squirm. But Severus Snape was an accomplished spy and Occlude. He hadn't squirmed in front of the Dark Lord—unless required for a charade—so he damn sure wasn't going to squirm for this guy.

"Piss off," he said.

"You're Severus Snape, are you not?" the man asked.

Apparently, the newcomer was bad at following directions. Like teaching first years all over again. So, with a world-weary sigh, Snape heaved himself off his stool and turned to leave the bar. He could feel the stranger's eyes upon him.

"The world is ending," he proclaimed.

That got a few heads to turn. Snape rolled his eyes. He turned, regardless of every fiber of his being wanting him to walk out of the bar and went back to the man.

"Are you trying to incite a bloody panic?"

The man blinked. "You believe me?"

Snape crossed his arms. "Should I not?"

The man stared at him, his eyes narrowing just a touch. Finally, he said, "My name is Castiel. I'm an ang—"

"The Angel of Thursday? Are you bloody kidding?" Snape said, rolling his eyes once more.

"You… you know of me?"

"My dad was… a follower of certain beliefs, yes."

"Then you recognize what's happening. The Apocalypse."

Snape slid back onto his stool. "What proof do you have that you are who you say you are?"

Castiel—as he called himself—seemed to take a breath, to steel himself. Then, with no warning, he reached forward and touched Snape's neck. Before he could jerk away, he felt a searing heat travel down the scars left to him by Nagini. It was over in a moment. Castiel let his hand fall to his side, as Snape reached up to feel that the scars were gone. His eyes widened. Then, gathering himself, he scowled.

"Don't expect contrition," he said, taking another swig of his half-drunk beer. "What do you want?"

"We—that is, my friends and I—are trying to stop The Apocalypse. We're fighting against both the forces of Heaven and Hell to do so. We need allies. Strong allies. I've gone to several Wizarding communities, begging the same thing. I've been trying to seek out wizards of reputation. I've heard your stories. I've heard what you did, for the war against Voldemort. You're a master at war. We could use such talents."

A master of war… those words cut deeper than any knife. Snape winced. He shook his head.

"No. I left because of that. I'm done. No. No more war."

Castiel shook his head. "It's coming, whether you want it to or not."

"What would you have me do, hmm? Would you have me fight the Devil himself?"

"No. No, that has been… determined. I would have your aid, your potion work… your protection to those you could offer it to."

Snape arched a brow, and it wasn't until this moment did he realize that his heart had been racing. Now that Castiel had made his claim that Snape would not be on a battlefield, it slowed.

"Like what? A safehouse?"

"Of sorts. There will be those that will be injured by this war. Innocents. I would ask your help in healing them and making them safe, if I were to send them to you."

His lips parted, ready to tell the angel where he could shove it, when Castiel interrupted.

"Lily thanks you for her son's protection."

Snape was a pallid person. He was sure he was translucent after that. The one person he had spent these past few years trying not to think of… now memories flooded him. Brave Lily. Kind Lily. Beautiful Lily.

"You've met her?" he whispered.

Castiel nodded. "Her son used what I believe was called the Resurrection Stone, allowing her spirit to temporarily leave Heaven for Earth. These sorts of things… they call attention to themselves. I was sent to make sure it would not be a repeat offense. She spoke to me then."

"She thanked me?"

He rasped those words, fighting a torrent of tears. Castiel nodded. She was watching. Lily knew. Snape took a deep breath.

"Fuck. Fine. Castiel, send me the injured and the innocent. I'll do my best."

"It's all I ask. Thank you."

"Go fuck yourself. I take it you know where I live?"

"I do."

"Perfect. Send them there. I'll make sure the enchantments and wards I have allow those you send through. Now, kindly take my first piece of advice and piss off."

The angel nodded once more, and in a sound that sounded like the fluttering of wings, he was gone. Snape turned back to his beer and finished it. He stood, paid his bill, and made his way home. He would have healing potions to brew, and bezoars to gather, he supposed. He had skipped off to America to avoid this very sort of thing, but here he was, right back into it.

Potions Master to War Master. He was pretty sure that wasn't a promotion.


End file.
